


hope is a four-letter word

by sothisiswhatsnext



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: also known as its late and i'm in a weird mood, i think it's neat?, its a bit of a weird one, so have some words, this is in the eighteen months i guess, veiled references to depression, which is of course free real estate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sothisiswhatsnext/pseuds/sothisiswhatsnext
Summary: I don't remember what song this snatch of lyric is from, I heard it on the radio... yesterday? And it struck me as extremely, extremely Zolf.Have some weird word soup. I don't know exactly what it is, but I started something that was supposed to just be vague notes and it looked a bit cool and then it was a whole story.EnjoyMaybe read it on a phone? That might fit this funky formatting?p.s. the song is Counting Stars, don't remember who by
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	hope is a four-letter word

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember what song this snatch of lyric is from, I heard it on the radio... yesterday? And it struck me as extremely, extremely Zolf.  
> Have some weird word soup. I don't know exactly what it is, but I started something that was supposed to just be vague notes and it looked a bit cool and then it was a whole story.  
> Enjoy  
> Maybe read it on a phone? That might fit this funky formatting?  
> p.s. the song is Counting Stars, don't remember who by

Zolf tried to leave. Tries to stay gone.

It’s long and painful.

He buries himself.

Everything is too much, and has been for a long time.

He spends entire days not eating, lost in the bleary grey.

He spat in Poseidon’s face a long time ago.

And yet—

Tiny sparks of power, deep in his ribcage.

He doesn’t get letters. Just a newspaper, every day.

Things keep getting worse.

The world is losing ground.

London.

Britain.

Europe.

Guivres.

What can he do?

Zolf rolls over and goes back to sleep.

There’s a card, tucked in the paper.

Ace of Spades.

It joins the pile.

Sporadically, more arrive.

Always in the paper. Always the Ace of Spades.

There’s less time between occurrences.

Zolf starts to get curious. Or pissed off—hard to tell the difference.

One day, a box.

It clanks.

Legs.

They stay in the corner for a long time.

There isn’t another card for what might be a month.

This time, it comes in an envelope.

With a note.

Coordinates.

Wasn’t there a storm there recently? A ship went down.

Off the coast of Japan.

Zolf eyes the stack of papers.

The note.

The card.

The legs.

Adamantine legs.

 _Simulacrum_ legs.

He hadn’t noticed until now, so lost in the grey.

What if…

He spits a grin.

It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Zolf starts strapping on the legs.

It isn’t rational.

This isn’t hope, yet.

It’s desperation.

Revenge.

But eventually—

Sparks lead to fire.

Not quite belief.

More like trust.


End file.
